


The Hearing

by coolbyrne



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-19 09:49:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22809172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne
Summary: After Nick's accident and Valentine's Day, Jack's left wondering what's next. (Episode fill-in)
Relationships: Jethro Gibbs/Jacqueline "Jack" Sloane
Comments: 38
Kudos: 178





	The Hearing

His surprise came not from seeing her on his doorstep, but that she had knocked.

"Jack?" 

The one syllable question got a sheepish smile in return. "It's been a long day. Didn't know if you were up for company."

A deep line formed between his brows. Is that where they were in whatever it was between them? 

"I'm always up for your company, Jack." 

He stepped aside to let her in and as always, the house immediately felt warmer, fuller. She dropped to the couch with a long exhale while he made for the kitchen. The coffee was still hot and the 4 heaping spoonfuls of sugar dissolved into the darkness. He tapped the spoon against the cup edge and set it in the sink before returning to the living room where she looked up with bright eyes.

"Gimme."

The smirk escaped despite his best efforts, not only at the demand but at her closed eye sigh. One of them cracked open when the sugar hit her tongue. 

"You remembered."

"Kinda hard to forget." He sat beside her, reaching for his own coffee, 4 degrees less sweet than hers. His head rested back against the couch. 

“Hell of a day, huh?” she asked.

“Yep.”

Silence settled between them and he enjoyed the comfort it gave him. She didn’t have to speak, she just had to be. He almost reached out for her hand, but instead chose to squeeze his cup tighter. 

She glanced over her left shoulder then her right. “I thought Torres was staying over.”

Her voice gently wafted over him. “Doc decided to keep him one more night. Pretty sure the nurses had somethin’ to do with it, though.”

His easy grin brought out hers. “Don’t tell Ellie.” He chuckled his response. In his silence, she ventured ahead. “Speaking of Ellie- she said you two had an interesting conversation today.”

His jaw tightened and he sat up. “Did she?”

“Don’t even try that look,” she warned. “She didn’t tell me specifics; she wouldn’t betray your trust and you know it.”

He knew she was right. But he wasn’t looking forward to the direction the conversation was going. “Then why are we talking?”

Jack had an infinite well of patience that both comforted and annoyed him. “We’re talking because between her concern and your attitude, I’m trying to figure out where your head space is.”

He hated psych speak and his frown showed it. “My ‘head space’ is fine, Jack.”

“Is it? We never did talk about things after Phineas left.”

“Nothin’ to talk about. He left. I got over it.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really.” He stood and nearly missed the coffee table with his mug. When she didn’t say anything, he said, “You gonna ask me how I’m feelin’ now?”

“No,” she softly replied. “I’m going to ask you what you’re thinking. What’s going on in that head of yours, Gibbs?”

Her gentleness was getting under his skin. Every wife bar Shannon had a knack for lighting his fuse and going toe-to-toe in verbal warfare. He had replaced more doors in his marital homes than anything else, half of them slammed off their hinges. He was used to escalating volume and rattling windows. But Jack wasn’t that at all; she was warm eyes and even tones, understanding smiles and caring touches. It knocked him sideways, kept him off-balance. And as much as he loved it, right now, he needed to get as far away from it as possible.

Later he would appreciate how good she was at her job. But right now, he was too wound up.

"Whattaya want me to say, Jack?" he bit out, unwittingly falling into the gentle trap she had created. "That gettin' up every day is harder than the day before? That my knees hurt and my back aches every damn day? That bein' in the field with Torres makes me realize I'm losin' a step? Is that what you wanna hear?" 

She didn't reply, only watched from the couch as he paced his living room. It wouldn't have mattered anyway- something had been uncapped in him.

"I see Kate's face every day." He brought the heels of his palms to his eyes, his train losing steam. "Diane. Jenny. Shannon." His voice cracked on the second syllable. "Can't stay under water too long. Can't be in small spaces too long. Can't hold on too tight, can't hold on too loose. Everyone leaves. Is that what you want me to say?"

He felt her fingers curl around his wrists, tugging his hands away from his face. She looked back at him with eyes so warm, he felt it in his chest, gentle eyes that absolved him of every guilt he ever had. 

In a voice so soft he had to lean forward to hear it, she said, "Yes."

He just couldn’t stop self-sabotaging. “Isn’t that what I have a therapist for?”

Her hands dropped like they were scalded and the light went out of her eyes and he hated himself for it. His fallen expression attempted to apologize but it was too late.

"You're absolutely right," she agreed with a false brightness. "That _is_ what your therapist is for. And that's not me. Not sure what I am to you. Somedays." Her voice faltered. "Anyway. Tell Torres to call me if he gets tired of fireplace food."

"Jack."

But she was already at the door. "I think I hear your boat calling."

…..

The boat called him on a fairly regular basis, and Valentine’s Day was no exception. After forcing aside his newfound habit of going over the day’s events (a habit he blamed on Grace) and tossing the phone into the fireplace, he descended the old familiar stairs to the basement. He looked at the boat but took a seat in a nearby stool instead. A discarded block of wood just begged to be whittled by the knife that lay nearby, and almost subconsciously, he picked up both.

Every day, he was realizing he was getting older and older. It wasn’t just his knees or being a step (or two or three) behind Torres in the field; it was simple things like not being able to see the small detail in the wood he was carving in his hand. He had left his glasses upstairs again and the basement’s dim light did little to help. He thought of someone else who needed glasses, who would’ve loaned him hers- and proceeded to gouge his thumb with his whittling knife.

“God damn it!” he winced through gritted teeth, grabbed the nearest rag, wrapped it around the wound and decided he was tired of being unhappy.

…..

The realization that he’d never been to her place didn’t make the search any less frustrating or make his thumb throb any less. He knew it was a nice neighbourhood based on the address, and he suddenly wondered if he needed to have his badge handy in case the LEOs pulled him over in his 30 year old truck. Fortunately, he finally found the place and the parking gods were looking down on him. But now that he was there, he wasn’t quite ready to go in. With his head back, he closed his eyes and wondered what the hell he was doing. His thumb had no time for the introspection. 

The elevator was quiet and unnecessarily efficient, getting him to the 5th floor before he had time to change his mind. 

_Suck it up, Marine._

His knock was short but solid.

He imagined her looking through the peephole before he heard the locks turn. The door swung open and with alarm, she asked, "What's wrong?"

Of course she would immediately be concerned. It was 11 o'clock at night and it was him, a man who had never shown the slightest interest in visiting. He opened his mouth to answer but settled on holding up his thumb. She initially frowned at the gesture until she got a good look.

"Jesus, Gibbs! What did you do? You've wrapped it in a dirty-" Her exasperated inhale stopped her mid-sentence. "Get in here."

He followed her order like a good soldier, stepping inside her apartment for the first time. He wasn't inclined to follow the latest home trends, but he did recognize quality when he saw it, and he instantly coveted the large hand crafted coffee table. 

"Just working on some cold cases," she said, misconstruing his interest in the table for curiosity. "Bathroom's down here."

It was a short walk but he felt he learned more about her in the 3 minutes it took than he had in 3 years. Pictures of what he knew were Afghanistan landscape dotted the hallway, their black and white beauty a startling contrast to the horrors he knew they hid. There were few other photos but she had a fresh bouquet of flowers on another, smaller, handmade table. Nothing fancy, just things he recognized as daisies and greens. A simple splash of beauty. She flicked on the bathroom light and he followed. 

"Jesus, Jack, how much are they payin' you?"

She smiled for the first time since he arrived. "The bedroom's a postage stamp and I barely have room to change my mind in the living room. It was a trade-off for the kitchen and the bathroom."

"Hell of a trade-off."

The bathroom was the size of his bedroom, with a clawfoot bathtub along the left hand side and a shower big enough for 3 people in the opposite corner to the door. A dual sink spread entirely across one wall with a mirror to match. And yet it was all on the utilitarian side; the counters weren't cluttered with the many bottles he had grown accustomed to seeing over 4 marriages. In fact, everything had its place. The towels were neat and straight, the mirrors spotless. 

She must've seen his silent inspection because she shrugged with an almost embarrassed grin. "Can take the girl out of the Army."

He knew the rest because it applied to Marines, too. "It's nice."

She began running water in one of the sinks and when it was a depth she approved, she took his hand and carefully peeled away the rag. A small disapproving hum escaped her lips but she only said, "The water really should be cold, but I want to clean out some of that bacteria. Put your hands in while I get the first aid kit."

He did as he was told, wincing when the water hit the wound, but finding comfort in the scalding temperature. She stepped out of view and he was left alone with his reflection. He looked tired and his frown only added years to his face. His jawline had lost its edge over the decades, probably at the same rate his hair had gone almost white. But his eyes remained piercing blue and that intimidating gaze was directed at himself.

_Jackass_ , it seemed to say.

He was saved any further private recriminations when she returned with a stool and a bag he instantly recognized.

“You steal that IFAK from the Army, Lieutenant?”

“I believe the term is ‘appropriated’.” She set both down to take a look at his hands. The water was cloudy with dust and blood and she ran clean water in the next sink. But before she asked him to transfer over, she lathered up her hands and began soaping his, her fingers gently working over his palms and knuckles. 

He thought her hands looked incredibly small as he watched them lather over and around his. Her hair fell to block his view of her face, but he caught her expression in the mirror, her eyes intent on her task. Things had moved so quickly from the moment he showed up on her doorstep until now that he hadn’t noticed her shirt.

“Marine Corps?”

She looked up and met his eyes in the mirror. “Christmas gift from Bishop. She thought it would be funny.” Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes and her attention went back down to the sink. “Okay, rinse.”

She guided his hands to the 2nd sink that was filled with cold water. The contrast from the hot had him inhale sharply, but he flexed his fingers and hummed. She stretched for a towel on a shelf near the tub and spread it across her hands. 

"Here."

He went to reach for it, but she took his hand between towel and hers, patting gently, carefully avoiding his thumb.

"Looks better," she said almost to herself. Tossing the towel over her shoulder, she picked out some gauze from the kit, folded it into squares and pressed it over the wound. "Hold that." 

He watched her lay out everything she needed, efficient and meticulous. Not for the first time did he wonder what she was like as a soldier. 

"I told Bishop I wasn't happy." The words were so unexpected that he was just as surprised as she was. Her hand hesitated ever so slightly as she put the tape roll beside the scissors. When she didn't reply, he breathed deeply through his nose and softly admitted, "You scare the hell outta me, Sloane." 

If he had hoped the admission would get him off the hook or get a reaction, he was mistaken, and her lack of response caught him off-guard. She simply continued with her silent care, gently removing the gauze from the wound. Sliding her glasses from her hair, she peered at the damage. 

“Bleeding’s stopped.” She reached back for a small tube.

Inexplicably, he felt a need to fill the silence. “Three ex-wives, Jack. Didn’t need a therapist to tell me I’m the common denominator.” He watched her pearl a drop of clear liquid along the gash. “I told Phil- I don’t know if I’m cut out for a relationship.”

“There,” she said. “Let that dry for a minute.”

“Jack.”

“What, Gibbs?” The sharpness in her voice made him blink hard. She stood up, walked a small circle then sat down again, as if she needed the short break to rein in her emotions. “Wish you would’ve figured that out before you kissed me in the bullpen.”

“I shouldn’tve done that.”

“Ya think?” She purposely mocked his phrase. “If you could announce that to everyone tomorrow, that would be great, because now I’m the subject of all the office gossip after that little stunt.”

A line cut between his eyebrows. “Gossip? I haven’t heard anything.”

Her laugh was mirthless. Reaching for the gauze and tape, she said, “That’s because you’re a man, Gibbs. You’re marking your territory. I’m just easy.” She began wrapping his thumb, talking as if they were discussing dinner choices. “If I were my own patient, I’d ask myself if maybe it was time to re-evaluate how healthy this is, this dangling carrot. I’d gently suggest that maybe two years was long enough to let someone play with my heart.”

“I’m not playin’, Jack.”

“I’ve got the ugliest painting of an elephant in my office that says otherwise.”

“I never intended-”

“No,” she agreed, “but you do, Gibbs. You come to me when you need someone you can trust, but when I try to reach out to help, you push me away. Often literally.”

He knew exactly what she was referring to. “The elevator.”

She wound the tape around his thumb with practiced ease. “I never took you as a cruel man, Gibbs. But that elevator made me have second thoughts. Then you kiss me, in front of everyone, and I’m back on the happy train again. ‘Maybe this time’. But I’m beginning to think there won’t ever be a time.” The job was finished and she began putting the first aid items back into the kit. 

The finality in her words made his heart stop. He had never heard her lay her own heart so bare, and finding he was the cause of the bleeding squeezed the air out of his lungs. Such was his inability to inhale that when she stood, he could only grab her wrist with his good hand. She looked down with such a defeated sigh that he could only whisper, “Jack.”

She didn’t seem to have the same problem breathing, because her breath was long and deep. “What, Gibbs?” Her question wasn’t nearly as sharp as it had been the first time she asked, and he didn’t know if that was better or worse.

He looked at her hand because he knew he couldn’t look at her eyes. “How about now?”

The confusion was evident in her voice. “How about now what?”

“Maybe this time?”

“Gibbs.” 

The name was whispered with a resigned surrender that made him stand. Gently removing her glasses, he leaned in to kiss her on the cheek, just as he had done that day in the office. But this time, he only pulled back far enough to gauge her response. Had she rebuffed him, he would’ve re-built his wall and gone home to his bourbon. But almost reluctantly, like she was succumbing to an inevitability she wanted yet feared, she nudged him with her nose and he was all in. His lips captured hers in a way he never would’ve done with witnesses, his mouth claimed hers with all the intent and want he had denied himself until this very moment. Her hand came up, subconsciously covering her heart, and he took her fingers to cover his instead. He felt her grip the fabric like a fierce protector and he wrapped his arm around her waist, promising the same.

The fact that the throbbing in his thumb had stopped didn’t surprise him considering it felt like all the blood in his body rushed to his head and below his belt. He was lightheaded from the sensation of her lips and rock hard at the moan she was making between them. Turning her back to the sink, he half-lifted, half-guided her to the edge where she proceeded to knock over the first aid kit, and all he could think of was the ways he wanted to make her laugh like that again and again.

"All this counter space and you pick this spot?" she teased while his lips went on a scouting mission of her neck.

"IFAK's outdated anyway. I'll appropriate you a new one."

Her eyes were warm and bright when she pulled back to look at him, and he knew he owed it to her to look right back, to let her see everything. Her hand dropped from his chest to move down the hoody to hook her fingers in his pocket. Her eyebrow arched at a hard discovery.

"You happy to see me, Cowboy, or is there really something in your pocket?"

"Both." He tilted his head in the direction of her hand, and she took the silent direction to reach in.

It was a small wooden elephant, no larger than a chess piece.

"Gibbs."

"It's not finished," he said, reaching for it, but she quickly pulled her hand away.

"It's perfect." She looked at it again. "It really is." Holding it against her heart, she asked, "Is this what led to that?" Her eyes went to his thumb.

"Yeah."

With her free hand, she lifted his injury to her lips and even if he knew it was all in his head, her touch seemed to heal everything. 

"You know," she said, moving her lips to his mouth, "you could've just bought me flowers."

Her delivery was so deadpanned that it took him a second for the words to register, but when they did, his lips and his growl found a way to bring out her laugh again.

…..

-end


End file.
